What Brought You Here?

Sunday, March 9, 2003

Sid & Nancy Rolled Up Into One with Strains of Vivaldi in the Background

10:39 pm

At nine this morning my girlfriend found me passed out on the couch covered with blood. My take on the whole situation is that, since we had decided that my drug-induced spats of nodding out and cigarette dropping in the bedroom were, in fact, becoming dangerous (an entire cigarette burned down to the butt on the keyboard of my laptop, and a few burn holes in the sheets and carpet don't much compare, eh?) I had gotten up, either in my sleep or xanaxed to the gills (I am a genuine somambulent, thank you very much), I had wandered into the the living room to smoke. Not being able to find a workable lighter, I had naturally started the gas stove top to light my vigarette. I would be willing to bet that I dropped that cigarette but mistaken thought I had finished it. Naturally my nicotine cravings were unsatisfied, so back to the stove I went. Then I dropped the second cigareete, hit my nose on something or stuck my finger up there looking for gold, passed out, and bled all over myself. I'm not sure of the exact order of events. I'm prone to nosebleeds, so that event shouldn't trifle anyone.

I can, however, sympathise for my dear Girlfriend who, needing to pee at the wee hour of 9am, happened to find me and the couch covered in blood and passed out cold. That is to say, I was passed out cold and covered in blood, the couch (okay, futon) is inanimate, so its unresponsiveness bothered noone, but it was sufficently bloodstained that we flipped the futon mattress lest any of the Men in Blue (or the MIB, who I've been expecting for awhile) come around knocking on doors and asking questions after some silly girl is kidnapped and strangled running through the neighborhood streets at night, as I like to do in the summertime.

I was also dissassociating last night, which I've found to happen when I mix mind altering drugs or do a lotta lotta opiate. I was, for instance, swearing something at my computer whilst in a completely different room. I also remember an instance in which I was at some important departmental meeting whilst physically located in my kitchen over the stove.

I am also back to bingeing and purging nearly everyday and back to just about normal weight, all of which irritates me immensely. I mean, sure, EffexorXR was doing possibly irreverable nuerological damage, but I will testify that I never weighed more than 122 pounds while on it. Oh, wait, I forgot. I'm supposed to be in recovery from an eating disorder. I'm on Lexapro now, demanded because it's just about the only modern anti-depressant I am contraindicated for that doesn't lower your sex drive *that* *much*. And Buspar. My new psychiatrist seems harmless and educated and she is a lesbian, but she's really stuck on this idea that Lexapro and Buspar are the magic appleseed for bulimia.

I beg to differ. God, maybe I should just give in and let them put me on depakote. I lose my keys and wallet thrice daily, I have a collection of half-pairs of gloves and mittens, maybe it *would* be a good idea for me to try to take another pill at regular intervals.

BTW, boys and girls, if someone ever prescribes you Skelaxin (US patent) for a muscle relaxer, tell them to fuck off unto from whence they came. It costs a dollar a pill, at 8 pills a day. And it doesn't works. And it makes me much more aware of my esophagus than I ever care to be.

All apologies for having written this exclusively in American, I am too lazy to go to the other room and look up the chemical names of these drugs, and certainly too lazy to go in their and fetch extra "u"s to insert after my "o"s.

No comments:

Post a Comment

If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit next to me.